


Perfect In My Eyes

by MsBrightsideSH



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Body Positivity, Erotic Massage, Inception Bingo, M/M, Rimming, Spanking, and Arthur loves it, but he doesn't mind thanks very much, chubby!Eames, physical imperfections, yay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-10 05:23:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11684961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsBrightsideSH/pseuds/MsBrightsideSH
Summary: They've never actually been on a get-away together.





	Perfect In My Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really late with my bingo stories this year, but here's the first - covering the squares "Physical imperfections", "Rimming", "Spanking" and "Erotic massage".
> 
> Massive thanks as always to Kate, for brainstorming with me, and the brilliant beta job!
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy :)

They’ve never actually been on a get-away together. It’s strictly against Arthur’s policy, usually, because, well the dangers are self-evident. A team is harder to chase if everyone runs into a different direction of the globe, and if someone is going to get caught, it’s definitely not going to be Arthur.  
It’s a different matter, of course, if it’s your team that sells you out.  
Arthur had a bad feeling about this job from the start. He doesn’t like to admit it, because he generally avoids taking risks like this, but it’s true nonetheless. He heard of the offer months ago, and dismissed it, because he trusted neither the architect nor the extractor. Arthur can work with one wild card, and has done many times before, but two? Two’s just irresponsible.  
Irresponsible. Of course Arthur shot his caution to the wind as soon as he heard that Eames would be there.

It’s widely known that the dream community, as secretive a bunch as you might expect them to be, enjoys gossip almost as much as a bundle of cash, unmarked and untraceable. Having Arthur and Eames on your team together is regarded as a guarantee for both. No one is entirely sure when they started fucking, but that they are fucking hasn’t been doubted by anyone in years.  
That’s all it is, though — fucking. Pretty amazing fucking at that, and since they hadn’t seen each other for months, Arthur thinks no one can truly blame him that he joined the team after all.  
At first, everything seemed to go smoothly. Neither the extractor nor the architect were entirely incompetent, and Eames, of course, was ‘utterly brilliant’ to steal his own words.   
They didn’t exactly share a room, but might as well have been. Arthur didn’t spend a single night on his own. Everything seemed perfect, until two weeks in, when Arthur went into the abandoned office they were working from early, and was greeted by a bullet zinging by his right ear and the sight of Eames on the floor, coughing up blood.  
Eames might advise Arthur to dream bigger, but Arthur prefers small guns when he’s under so he won’t be confused topside. Nothing more disconcerting than reaching for a grenade launcher and realizing you’ll have to make do with a Beretta.  
Arthur throws himself to the floor right before the guy shoots a second time and fires right at him — idiot was crouching on a fucking shelf, really?  
He hears a gurgled moan and a thump and then silence, except for Eames’ rasping breathing.  
Arthur has no idea whether there might be more people, or whether he’s just lucky he was here so early. He jumps up and runs over to Eames, drags him out the door and to his car.  
Eames is still breathing heavily, but it doesn’t sound as wet as Arthur suspected.  
He drives in silence for a while, as fast as he dares, until they’re far enough out of the city that he dares to stop and open Eames’ shirt to check for damage.  
“It’s not as bad as it looks, Arthur,” Eames sums up his thoughts. The blood on and in his mouth seems to come from a deep cut in his tongue, mostly, and the wounds on his chest are deep, but glancing wounds only, Arthur realises in relief.  
“I just came in to check on the design for the mark’s room, I couldn’t sleep after you left. Pjetrosch, this fucking monkey, was sitting on the shelf and fired at me. I bit my tongue and pretended he’d gotten my lung, bloody idiot.” Eames chuckles, but he’s lost blood nonetheless and he’s paler than Arthur would like, underneath all that bravado.  
“So Pjetrosch sold us out, yeah?”   
Eames nods. “Laura too, I’d guess. Pjetrosch is too spineless to do something like this on his own. He was only the lookout, though, I think they didn’t expect us there so early.”  
He looks at Arthur. “Think they’ll come after us?”  
Arthur thinks for a second, then shakes his head. “Not yet. This wasn’t their idea, and they’ll wait for new orders from whoever paid them.”  
“So, what do we do now?” Eames asks and Arthur knows it’s a sign of trust, and he can’t help smile at the ‘we’, as stupid as that may be. “We’re gonna get you back on your feet, and lie low for a while, until they really start to sweat. And then, we’re going to take those bastards down.”

They don’t have to, as it turns out. 

After the first week in the safe house of Arthur’s choice (one that’s (…), because now its location is compromised to Eames, and it’s not really a safe house anymore, except if they use it together, and now here’s a thought, but not one that Arthur will entertain any further) he stomps into the living room where Eames is on the sofa, eating the soup Arthur brought him. Eames looks up in alarm when he sees Arthur, and puts the bowl down.  
“Oh dear,” he says, and how a grown man, mostly made out of muscle and covered in tattoos, can use that phrase seriously is a mystery to Arthur. “Time to run then?”  
Arthur shakes his head and drops down on the sofa next to Eames. “The opposite, actually.”  
Eames looks confused, and Arthur sighs. Laura and Pjetrosch were both found dead this morning in their respective homes, and Laura had a note pinned to her chest.”  
“What did it say?”  
“For old times’ sake, S.” Arthur replies, almost growls. “I swear to God, if Saito continues messing with our business — we can take care of ourselves!”  
Eames chuckles and Arthur turns to glower at him. “I’m sure he knows that. This was an easy thing he could do, but it’s not like he’d start messing with you if things got personal.”  
“Things are personal!”  
Eames just raises an eyebrow at him and Arthur knows where he learned that expression, so he glowers extra hard. Not that it seems to have much effect.  
“Really, Arthur, this wasn’t personal,” Eames says, completely unimpressed. “This was two imps trying to run us over for the money we already know is on our heads. They were just means to an end, and I’m sure you’ll have plenty of opportunities to get the people who are really behind this. We’ll lie low for a while, start working a couple jobs again separately, and find out more. There will always be money on our heads, love. For the moment, there’s nothing you can do.”  
Arthur knows Eames is right. They’re the best at what they do, and there’s always someone or the other after them. ...working a couple jobs again separately… Arthur sighs.   
He should just make the best of his time with Eames while he can.

It’s early morning when Arthur first notices it. Eames is still snoring beside him, the covers kicked off as usual, and in the grey morning light that filters through the curtains, there is definitely a little rise to his belly. Arthur blinks, because he’s never seen Eames in any other shape than, well, buff, but it makes sense of course. He can’t move very much in here, especially with the wounds that are still healing, and Arthur’s safe houses don’t come with a gym. He slowly stretches out a hand to touch Eames, but that’s the moment Eames decides to wake up and immediately roll on top of Arthur, starting to lazily kiss his neck, and Arthur forgets about it.

When Arthur thinks about it again later, Eames is just preparing dinner. All Arthur can do is heat up a can of soup (and even that has gone wrong several times in his life). Eames is a fucking wizard in the kitchen. They’re having pasta with some creamy stew tonight and Arthur wonders whether it’d be too undignified to lick his plate clean (it probably would be, he concludes.)  
“Do you always cook like this for yourself?” he asks, sneaking a spoon from Eames’s plate while he isn’t looking. Eames shrugs. “When the mood arises,” he says. “It’s more fun to cook for two, though.”  
Arthur doesn't know for certain, but he's reasonably sure that Eames hasn't cooked for two in a long while.

Once he's started noticing it, he can't stop. He wonders what the soft flesh of Eames’s belly would feel like underneath his tongue, or how it would feel to dig his fingers into the definitely meatier chest and shoulders now, whether Eames’s ass would jiggle if Arthur spanked him now.  
On the other hand, he doesn't want Eames to notice that he has noticed the weight gain. Arthur has known Eames for quite some time now, and the way Eames slips on personas, perfects looks and accents, has led him to the conclusion that Eames, despite perhaps pretending otherwise, is very aware of and concerned with his appearance. So he avoids touching Eames in places where he's become heavier, doesn't linger on the swell of his ass as much and tries not to watch too obviously when Eames is in the shower.

After dinner one night, Eames stops Arthur as he leans in for a kiss.   
“I wanted to talk to you about something.”  
Arthur looks at him in surprise.  
“What about?” he asks carefully, trying to stop his mind from racing through the different possibilities.  
“Us — me, I mean … bloody hell, this is more awkward than I expected.”  
Eames laughs a little and Arthur realises that it's in embarrassment.  
“I know I’ve, uh, gained a few pounds—”  
“Have you?” Arthur interrupts, feeling strangely panicked. Eames raises an eyebrow at him again, and damn, he's getting good at that.   
“I know you've noticed Arthur, I’m not completely stupid.” Arthur feels himself blush.  
“I was just, I mean, if it bothers you, I can—”  
“No,” Arthur says hurriedly, “it doesn't bother me.”  
“Oh,” Eames says. “I thought it did. You've been a bit weird about touching me lately, that's why I thought …”  
“No,” Arthur repeats. “Actually, I thought it bothered you. I didn't want to bring to your attention that I'd noticed so you wouldn't feel bad.”  
To his surprise, Eames chuckles. “Arthur, I don’t feel bad. This is what usually happens when I’m in between jobs. When I lie low, and get comfortable. It doesn’t bother me. In fact, I’m rather comfortable this way.” He grins and spreads his arms, clearly completely at ease now that he can be sure that Arthur doesn’t mind. “I start working out again before jobs, because … well, because that’s the Eames people know, isn’t it.”  
Arthur smiles. “So this Eames,” he says, carefully sliding a hand over Eames belly, “this Eames is private?”   
Eames grins. “Maybe not entirely private.” He leans in to kiss Arthur and Arthur returns the kiss as well as he can, while smiling like a lunatic.

They make it to the bedroom, but only just. Eames lost most of his clothes on the way and Arthur is down to his boxers as he playfully shoves Eames onto the bed.  
He can’t help but push his fingers into Eames back, which is still muscular, but certainly more meaty than before. Eames grunts in appreciation and Arthur continues, making it an impromptu massage. Soon, his focus wanders from Eames’ shoulders and back to his ass, which has always been one of Arthur’s favorite things about Eames’ body. Right after his mouth, maybe.   
Before he can overthink it, Arthur gives it an experimental swat. Eames moans in appreciation and lifts his ass, completely shameless, for more. Arthur obliges, bringing his hand down a little harder this time, fascinated by how the flesh jiggles. Eames wriggles with every stroke, making breathy little sounds that Arthur could listen to for hours.  
After a few minutes of this, Eames’ ass has turned a very appealing shade of pink, and Arthur can’t help himself, he lowers his head and bites. Eames clearly has no objection whatsoever to this.  
“While you’re down there, darling …” He sounds very hopeful, and it’s true, Arthur usually isn’t the biggest fan of rimming. Eames loves it, though, giving and receiving, and somehow, Arthur can’t resist now. He spreads Eames’ cheeks and starts out with tiny kitten licks. He has to pin Eames’ hips down after a while because he’s wriggling so much, pushing into Arthur’s tongue, then shying away from it. Arthur has to laugh. “Could you stay still for one second please?”  
“Absolutely not,” Eames moans, exaggeratedly breathy. “You’re simply too good at this, darling. You’ll surely kill me.”   
“Well, we can’t have that,” Arthur says, blowing air over Eames’ hole and then carefully pushing a finger in. “Do you think you can survive me fucking you, or will you swoon in my arms?”  
Eames sighs dramatically. “You’ll have to try and see, love.”   
Arthur does just that.

After, they lie next to each other, breathless and sweaty. Arthur’s fingers draw invisible patterns onto Eames belly, smiling to himself. Eames drops a kiss to his head and watches Arthur’s hand for a while. “Darling, is that a paisley pattern you’re drawing?”  
Arthur blushes and doesn’t answer, just leans up for another kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> So, that was it, my first chubby!Eames story.   
> All the ones I've read so far wer always about Eames feeling bad about his weight gain, even hating himself.   
> I talked to Kate about how much that bothers me, and she basically said, well, do something about it! I threw in a little kink as well, and here we are..


End file.
